Winged
by Rothalion
Summary: Just a short tale about how Salem got the wound on his arm in The 40th Day.


_Winged_

They ran. They ran, and the devastation of Shanghai relentlessly followed them. Salem was exhausted and confused, and it was all that Rios could do to keep the younger man focused and moving. Usually, Salem was unflagging in chaotic situations, but something about the totally unexpected attacks was bringing his negative and defeatist attitude to the surface. It had, Rios thought as he vaulted a fallen concrete pillar and slid into cover behind another, begun when they'd put down J.B., or more accurately, after he'd botched putting down J.B. forcing Salem to finish his dirty work. This was the new T.W.O., and putting a bullet into the back of the man's head who just helped you was not supposed to happen. Well, at least that was what him and Alice had promised the younger operator. Now, it seemed that all of their plans for a clean T.W.O. were being burned to the ground with Shanghai's fall taking Salem's fight with it. As he ducked lower to avoid a burst of mounted-gun fire, Salem slid in beside him gasping for breath.

Rios pivoted around, flopping back against the concrete barrier. He flipped up his mask, swiped the sweat from his stinging eyes, checked his weapon and sighed, "Almost out. You?"

"Out," Salem rasped coughing harshly before spitting a dust clotted glob of mucus to his left and tossing the battered AK-47 away into the rubble, "Fuckin' out, down to side arm. We need to kit up. The fuck's going on here, Rios?" he demanded tearing off his mask and running his hands back through his sweaty hair, wincing when his filthy, tired fingers caught in the knots, "Easy in easy out, my fucking ass." He went on, staring at his trembling hands, "Grease a few palms, set up the new Shanghai office, and make T.W.O. our baby, my fuckin' ass. This, this shit is bullshit! You and fucking Murray and your 'Don't worry Elliot. We're clean now. No more black, wet work…' You fuckin' call me finishing off J.B. clean, you fat, son of a lyin' bitch? How do you miss a guys head from two feet away? Fuck!"

"I don't know what happened, Salem. Alice doesn't know what is happening. All you need to know is that we have to keep moving, keep fighting, get to Murray and get the hell out of Shanghai. The whys don't matter right now, Salem."

"The fuck it don't," he spat back yanking his found 1911 from the holster on his right thigh. Then, in a harsh, strident voice rife with the bitterness of yet another perceived betrayal, he thumped his chest with his right index finger, "Matters to me, and if I mattered to the two of you then, yea, Rios the why's would fuckin' matter. We discussed this after Mexico. We agreed no more secrets, full operational disclosure, now I'm putting bullets into a guy's head who wanted nothing more than to have a fucking beer with me after a good days work. Fuckin' piece a shit 1911," he moaned, his tirade blown out, viciously racking the slide insuring that he had a round in the 1911's chamber.

"It'll due, till we can gear up," Rios said quietly trying to quell the younger man's fury, "Murray, Rios you there?"

"Still here, but my situation is tenuous," her voice came across the brittle crackle of sub-par comms, "They're still going room to room. You?"

"We need gear, Murray. Anything. A cop shop, armory what do you know about this area?"

"What's your twenty?"

Rios relayed the information, and the duo waited while she tried to get them the information. It seemed to take a lifetime, and all around them explosions and building collapses raged.

"Rios, I think you will like this," she said her voice, as always, calm amidst the chaos, "Three klicks to your north, at my twenty in the Tsai Tower, the South African consulate, there's an armory! I have to go. Just three klicks north. You two can make it, hurry!"

"Murray! Murray, shit!" Rios roared as the connection cut out filling their ear pieces with static.

"Jesus, Rios, we are fucked."

"Murray's on her own. She can handle herself. Lets move," Rios ordered grabbing Salem by his right elbow and dragging him up, "We go north. We get kitted up, and we move to Murray's twenty. Just have to scavenge shit along our way. Kill them with their own gear. Won't be the first time."

Together, they rolled out of cover and dodging fire headed through dank alleyways, reeking of death, north toward the consulate. The wicked Shanghai heat having made quick work on the rotting, burnt corpses.

The three klick, double-time march was a nightmare, and, at times, dodging the mysterious mercs hunting them and falling debris, slowed the desperate duo to a crawl. Along the way, Salem managed to pick up a Famas, six magazines of ammo and three grenades. Rios scavenged a Heavy Gunner's Remington 870 and nearly fifty rounds, but the acquired gear did little to change Salem's dour mood. Tsai Tower took a direct missile strike, and Murray's situation continued to rapidly deteriorate, forcing them to their limits trying to get to her twenty before the building completely collapsed. Eventually, they fought there way up, often hand to hand, from street level onto the roof tops hoping that the height would speed up their travel, but clearing them proved equally difficult. The vents and air handling units unfortunately provided excellent cover for the ample mercs. More troublesome, though, was that the enemy also held sniper positions on higher ground in the neighboring taller structures.

"This isn't working out. We need off a these roofs, Rios. They are chewing us up," Salem sputtered trying to catch his breath after using a step jump to scale a fifteen foot tall fence and unlocking a gate so that Rios could proceed, "It's like they have our fuckin' number. Why the hell are they targeting us? The fuck'd we do?"

"Tell me something I don't know," Rios screamed back dragging Salem down into cover, "Will you watch your skinny ass!"

"Fuck you. Whose bright idea was it to open up shop in Shanghai, again?"

"That would be me."

"So, this shit storm is your fault. Down, Rios!" he ordered rising to his knees, pivoting left and firing over Rios' position taking out two mercs on a balcony above them with precise, three round bursts, saving his precious ammo, "Do you even speak Mandarin?" Elliot asked dropping back into cover.

"Stay focused on the mission, Salem."

"Mission? Mission! What mission?" he screamed his voice hoarse and cracking from breathing in dust and hollering, "the _mission_ was to plant some _crowd control monitors_, turn 'em on and have beers with J.B.. Now he is dead, by my hand, 'cause you and Murray wanna make an extra buck, and we are running through a building with no roof or walls after running down the side of the last building! Oh, and the crowd control thing, oh, they turned out to be missile targeting beacons. How the fuck are we gonna…"

Rios grabbed him and slammed him hard against the cracked wall clattering his grit blackened teeth, "I need you to pull it together, Salem! I need…"

"Fuck you!" he yelled shoving Rios backwards with his right shoulder and stepping past him. Then, before he could get back into cover, a bullet spun him around and slammed to the ground hard on his back. "I'm hit! Sniper! Get some cover, Rios!"

Rios turned, grabbed the dropped Famas, dove for cover and fired back at the merc hiding in a blast shattered air duct. The dead sniper tipped forward and fell five floors to street level landing amidst the smoldering rubble. When Rios turned back, Salem was still down pushing himself backwards on his ass toward the wall's safety. Two more shots hit the knee wall spattering them with concrete. Rios, finally ducked low, dashed out while blasting covering fire above his head in the direction of the remaining shooters, grabbed Salem's pull strap and dragged him around the corner out of the second sniper's eye-line. Once safe, he pushed the smaller man back against the wall and looked him over.

"Where you hit?" he shouted running his hands over Salem's tactical vest, "You, dumb fucker."

"Left arm, bicep. Fuck, it hurts."

Rios tore off Salem's shoulder pad and grimaced, "Through and through. Can you bend your arm?"

Salem groaned, made a tight fist, bent his arm at the elbow and wriggled his wrist around.

"Muscle's not torn. Just patch me up."

Rios grabbed the med kit, and after cleaning the wound, he packed it with clotting material and wrapped it tightly in several layers of gauze. Then he gave Salem a shot of pain killer to keep him moving.

"Have to do, for now. Two hundred yards further and we are in the consulate. We hit the basement, raid the armory and go up for Murray. Can you do that, Salem?"

"Copy that."

"Good then move out, and keep low. That sniper is still out there somewhere."

*Twenty minutes later, they moved into the shattered consulate. Bodies lined the silent hallways, and for the first time, since the attacks began, the somewhat intact building muffled the noise from outside. Salem winced, though, when all he could hear was the ringing in his own ears. Silently, they worked their way downward toward the basement. It seemed counter-productive going down, when Murray was up, but they needed the armory. After several minutes, while they reckied the area, his ears cleared a bit, and he heard the buzz of fluorescent lighting and a whirring fan. The air was somewhat clearer as well, smelling of floor wax, and a scented air freshener instead of death, and he breathed deeply. Finally, after brutal hours and hours of constant running they weren't under a direct threat, and he actually felt in control of his situation. His arm was throbbing, despite the pain meds, and the sudden peacefulness, and blood loss was tanking his adrenalin. Halfway down the maintenance hallway, he slowed to a shuffling walk, stopped, leaned back against the wall, and slid down to the clean floor sucking in gouts of air while squeezing his eyes shut against the twinkling that came before passing out.

Rios, after checking their six, stopped in front of him, "Look at me, Salem," he ordered squatting down and flipping up Elliot's mask, "Arm's a bloody mess again. Shit. How you feeling? You lost some blood, shit. Just drink this. Its the last of my water. No time for an I.V.."

"Feel? Like I've been lied to, shot at, blown up and fucked in the ass, once again, by my supposed to be family."

"Look, Salem, you need to bury that shit, right now! We do not have time for your hurt feelings."

"My shit? My hurt feelings?"  
"That's right. Your shit and your fucking feelings have no place in this mission," he continued taking away the drained canteen. Then, a bit gentler. "Now, lets just get to the armory, and get to Murray," sometimes, managing Salem was like dealing with a petulant child, "Okay, just keep your head down, and keep moving. Stay tight on my six. Come on, now," he finished off tugging Elliot up by the straps of his vest and tapping his mask back down, "Like old times, game face, right?"

"Sure thing, Rios, game face."

Three left turns and a stairwell down, they found the promised armory. Hopeful, for the first time in hours, they moved rapidly to the locked weapon's cages, and after knocking the locks off with Rios' pry bar began stocking up on gear.

"Jackpot! This is more like it," Salem said joyfully grabbing a brand new Vektor R4 from the rack. "Sweet, just a Galil knock off, but I'll take it, though. Beats the fuck outta a damned beat to shit AK," he continued sounding, to a relieved Rios, energized, "Ammo out the ass too. Fuck, fill every pocket you got, Tyse, hear me?" he asked moving further down to a crate of grenades and some med kits. As he was loading the much needed gear into and onto his tac vest, he heard the hammer draw back on a weapon and spun around, "Whoa, now," he said holding his hands out to his sides cursing himself for not watching their six. Exhaustion and relief had clouded their judgment.

"Put-the-weapons-back," an older black fellow dressed in a security guard's uniform ordered, in heavily accented, halting English.

Staring him down, Salem spoke carefully, "Look, friend, who's gonna miss a few bullets? We just wanna get out of here."

"I can not do that. Put-them-back."

"Now, listen," Rios said placatingly while moving toward the frightened, fifty something year old security guard, his arms held out in surrender, "We're on your side. We just need enough to keep us moving. You won't ever see us again."

"No, they are not yours. Put them back. It is my job to protect them."

"Salem?" Rios asked looking over at the seething smaller man, "Your call."

"My call!" he yelled back, "You got to be kidding me, Rios! It ain't a call. We _need_ this shit. Fuck his job."

"You heard the man. We'll take only what we need. Salem, watch this guy, while I finish loading up."

Salem nodded, moved toward the skittish man and frowned, the botched scene with J.B. still fresh in his mind. He was only supposed to be watching him too. Then frustrated that the guard still had his shiny, un-used 9mm Vektor SP-1 at arms length, leveled at his his head, "Jesus, fella, get that damed thing outta my face," he demanded pushing the guard's trembling arms aside. The gun went off, and after he finished ducking, Elliot looked down at the body lying at his feet, "Shit!"

"God damn it, Salem! Can't you go one day without killing somebody?" Rios growled scolding him his vitriol clear.

Deflated, once again, Salem stepped away, as the pool of blood flowing from the guard's shattered head neared his booted feet, "No, I guess not," he mumbled morosely, biting back the bile filling his seared throat, "I guess not. Fuckin' ricochet to boot. Fuck my rotten luck to hell. Sorry, fella. I tried," then, while stepping over the still warm corpse, the edge and disgust back in his voice, "Lets move. Murray's fuckin' waiting."


End file.
